The Forgotten War
by Spontaneous Implosion
Summary: In the time between the First and Great War between the Light and the Endarkened, another war raged, though it was forgotten by history. Its story is told here. Rating is for violence in upcoming chapters.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: Ok, I figure I better explain my setting here before anyone wigs out too much. I am using the world created by Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory in the Obsidian Triology and the Phoenix Trilogy. This story is set between the first war between the Light and Dark and the Great War. This is a time completely forgotten by the elves and every other living creature alive during the time of the Obsidian Trilogy. I did this mostly so I can weave in and out of canon as I please. So, if you see a being that was not part of the books (e.g. orcs), rest assured I am well aware of their lack of existence in the trilogies. I am simply assuming that while a great many races of the Light were destroyed in the Great War, so were many races of the Endarkened. Also, I am the first to admit that I begin forgetting a book as soon as I read it. This means I may mess up some of the history or terms used in the books. Feel free to mention it in a review, but I give no guarantees that I will have any inclination to change it.

With that all said, I hope you will read and review my story. I am all in favor of a critique, good or bad, as long as it is productive. I apologize to anybody that has read my works, commented or faved me and I have not written you a note in thanks. I'm terrible with communication, but I assure you that I am eternally grateful for your words and patronage.

Disclaimer: Anything created by Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory is not mine. Anything not created by them is, hands off.

* * *

Prologue

Ashtaroth sat on his throne of ice at the crown of Shadow Mountain and surveyed his domain. Stretching out before the demon king was a vast snow covered wasteland; a valley surrounded by glaciers, through which there was only one exit, only one entrance. Beyond the valley stretched a desolation such as had never been unleashed on the world. For hundreds of miles, no living thing grew and the clouds gathered so thick that the land was encapsulated in eternal twilight. But this valley was the demon king's stronghold, the only place above land capable of sheltering his legions. They spread below him, marring the snow pack with their many camps.

As Ashtaroth watched, a signal fire flared at the far end of the valley, the flame an eerie unnatural green; a reaving unit was returning from the lowlands. The fire jumped to the next camp, which sent up its own green flame. The signal slowly marched its way to the very foot of the mountain. However, the demon king was no longer paying it any mind. At the very edge of the immense valley, his keep crimson eyes picked out the unit as it straggled in. Even at such a distance, it was hard to miss as two massive frost giants accompanied the group. Thick rope was thrown over their shoulders and they hauled an enormous sledge behind them.

The demon's eyes were drawn to the steel-banded cage sitting atop the sledge, and the prize filling its confines. A great golden dragon was curled tightly inside the enclosure, its massive spiked head drawn all the way to rest near its tail and its majestic wings were bound tightly against its sides.

The demon king snarled with glee, hopping to his clawed feet and spreading his leathery black wings behind him with a snap. He stood there for a moment while the frigid tundra air washed over him. Gleaming ebon scales covered his entire finely muscled form, each ending in a small, sharpened spike. A pair of long spiraling horns curled back from his forehead to the back of his head and pointed canines dimpled his lower lip. A thick, spiked tail curled back behind him, and waved lazily as he watched the party march ever closer. One might consider Ashtaroth majestic in his own right, even dragon-like, if not for the sense of vileness that seemed to emanate from his very essence. The Endarkened King was terrible in his beauty and even the mightiest of his king trembled under his fiery gaze.

With a sudden motion, the demon king snapped his wings downward, launching his ebon form into the air. He circled once over the valley before gliding toward the middle of the camp where the convoy and sledge now sat. Silently, he set down in the midst of his troops, folding his wings tightly against his body. An orc, encased in jagged black iron armor was the first to notice, turning his head at the rush of air. He began to look away before suddenly starting with realization. A throaty whimper of terror escaped his cracked lips, and he stumbled backward, falling over the coldwarg panting next to him. Before he can hit the ground, a trio of pasty-skinned goblins set upon him, tearing off his armor to expose the soft flesh beneath. His screams of terror drew the attention of the remainder of the party, and they quickly moved out of the demon king's way, leaving him a path to his prize.

Ashtaroth smiles darkly, taking a moment to drink in his minion's pain and terror as the creature's screams give way to bloody gurgles. He then steps forward, ignoring the lesser beings casting themselves at his wickedly clawed feet. His gaze was firmly planted on the great beast confined before him. As he approached, the mighty creature lifted its head, and turned it to face the demon, though doing so crushed it even more tightly in the cage. It flared its nostrils dangerously.

"My, my, what a pretty beast. Shall we bond and become the mightiest duo to ever walk the face of this land?" The demon's voice was silken honey and he knew the dragon was being drawn to him, despite its disgust for him. "Demons live forever, you know, just like dragons."

The dragon snorts loudly, blinking its wise golden eyes at Ashtaroth. "While your offer is tempting, Endarkened, I am afraid I must refuse." Its voice was deep, but decidedly feminine.

Ashtaroth smiles, flashing his elongated canines. He knew the beast felt the same desire to bond as he, and a female dragon, if bonded, could produce offspring. "Ah, but I have not even attempted to tempt you yet, beloved." He smirks as the dragon twitches her head away at the familiar reference. "I have nothing but time, my lady, and I believe that is all I require to woo you."

The dragon laughs aloud at that, but Ashtaroth sees the doubt playing in her eyes before she turns her massive spiked head away. In time, she would be his, and he would be more powerful than the Dark One himself. The world of the light would be his and caves of the dark would tremble at his name. Soon, soon.


	2. Chapter 1

Author's Note: For the lovely OrisounAsh, who would probably beat me with a stick if I didn't upload soon. I'm not satisfied with the last third or so of the chapter, but I am a horribly inpatient person loathe to revise more than once or twice. Also, this is quite possibly the longest thing I have ever written, of which I'm rather proud. Anyhow, enough drabbling. If you have the time, please review what you read. I will be much appreciative and happy and stuff.

Disclaimer: The setting is Mercedes Lackey's and James Mallory's. The characters are mine and they're not for sale or lease.

* * *

I.

It was springtime, and from the back of a dragon, the world below was a splash of color. Prairies were filled with wildflowers and the hope of new life, while the forests returned from empty branches to brilliant green foliage. Snow still clung to the mountaintops, crowding the passes, but the warmth of the sun would soon turn those icy heights barren and seen clean, fresh water racing through the riverbeds.

_With this view, one might refuse to believe we are in a war to save the very world from darkness_, Jurian thought to himself. Below him, Cadteryn, his beloved bonded and mount, gave a low chuckle, speaking quietly as he drew his expansive emerald wings down, shooting them higher into the sky. "It's quite serene, isn't it? As long as you shield your eyes from the blight-ridden west, and cast your gaze forward and not to the desolation of the High Reaches behind us. Oh, and you must ignore the smoke and dust to the south, where the armies are regrouping."

Jurian scowled, shaking his head. "You are much too good at reassuring, my friend."

"It is my life's goal to keep you in high spirits, beloved. Now tighten your belts. I believe I can just make out the ranging camp we seek below."

Jurian leaned forward to pat his companion's smooth emerald scales before tightening the straps that held him into his saddle. He was just in time; as he pulled the last leather strap into place, Cadteryn dipped a wing down, swooping them into a tight arc. The lifeless desolation of the north came into view for the barest of moments before Cadteryn drew his great wings tight against his body and shot towards the forest floor far below. The speed caused Jurian's eyes to water, and the whistle of the wind shrieking past masked the long mournful horn from below which called out the pair's arrival.

With a sudden burst, Cadteryn snapped out his wings, just in time to come into a hard landing in a small clearing on the forest floor. Jurian unbuckled his flying harness as they skidded to a halt through the rich, dark dirt, and flung himself from his companion's back. As he rolled across the ground, Cadteryn shot back into the air. Such was the common procedure for visits to these outlying camps so close to the Desolation. On occasion, the enemy had followed the dive of a dragon into a hidden camp and completely destroyed every living creature in the area. The only way to be certain no attack was forthcoming was for the dragon to fly a patrol during the day and dare to land near the encampment only after darkness had fallen.

Jurian straightened and brushed bits of dirt and loam from his cloak, waiting for an escort to appear. As he stared out into the dense forest, an elven ranger materialized out of thin air before him, or at least, it seemed that way. He wore leggings and a shirt of mottled green and brown that blended in perfectly with the surrounding fauna. Jurian had been around elves his entire life, yet still he was amazed at their ability to simply appear.

"I see you, Jurian Icefire," the elf intoned gravely, nodding politely. His features were fine and lean, like all elves, and his golden hair trailed down his back in a tight braid. His violet eyes were grim.

Jurian replied in the formal manner, splaying his hand in a universal sign of greeting. "I see you, Rhunarthil." Rhunarthil was an old friend, but one must never forget their manners when in the presence of elves.

"It would be most pleasing if you were to join me in camp for tea. There is much to discuss, I believe. The winter has been harsh, or so the winds say."

Jurian sighed inwardly. Always the tea first. Shadow Mountain could be mounting an attack as they spoke and elves would insist they sit and discuss the weather while drinking tea before addressing such an important topic. Brushing his long locks of black and white hair from his face, Jurian smiled sadly. "I am afraid I bear no news that will make good hearing, Rhunarthil."

The elven ranger nodded tightly. "Follow, if you will." Rhunarthil had already begun to fade into the scenery and Jurian had to scramble to catch up before he completely lost sight of the ranger.

When they arrived at the camp, tea was already brewing, filling the air with a faintly grassy fragrance. Jurian was directed to a fallen log upon which to sit, and while he waited in silence he marveled at the cleanliness and invisibility of the ranger camp. Scattered under the trees so as to be hidden from the sky was the horse picket, and several fine beast raised their heads to sniff at the new scent that had wandered into their camp. They weren't the strongly muscled destriers of the elven knights, but they were just as intelligent, and bred for speed.

Glancing about, Jurian was able to make out five or six of the small drab green tents used by the rangers when on patrol. However, he knew from the dispatch he had received that this patrol numbered near three score. Several small braziers sat about, their smoke and smell shielded by spells of the wild magic. When the rangers left this campsite in the morning, no trace of their presence would be left behind to guide the enemy to them.

Finally the tea was ready. Rhunarthil handed him a sturdy elvenware mug that somehow managed to feel as fragile as the thinnest glass, but Jurian knew if he were to drop it on the ground, it would not so much as chip. Holding the cup up to his lips, Jurian inhaled the delicate, if complex, scent of one of the many spring teas the elves favored once the snow began to melt and the flowers began to bloom. Fresh grass mingled with lilacs and peppermint and other familiar smells that Jurian could not quite place. A small sip found the concoction strangely refreshing, warming yet cool in the same breath. He raised an eyebrow in approval and Rhunarthil smiled. "It is a blend we created from those ingredients the forest has provided to us. We find it pleasing after a long day's ride or scout."

Jurian's thick black eyebrow rose higher. "It would be pleasing to know, of your courtesy, when it was you learned the art of tea making, Rhunarthil." His friend was an expert ranger, one of the best, but those domestic tasks such as cooking and tea making had never been his forte.

Rhunarthil tipped his chin toward a centaur ranger tending one of the braziers. "Not I, my friend. Jasper there is our master herbalist and tea maker." Jasper looked up and gave Jurian a wink. Jurian could only blink blankly at the big roan centaur. He had never heard of someone not of the elves creating such a tea, let alone a centaur. "I believe you will find Jasper is full of surprises." Rhunarthil kept a straight face only with the utmost effort.

Jurian took another sip of the tea, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I will not be here long enough to find out. I am brought here on an urgent mission and must leave as soon as it is concluded."

Rhunarthil looks troubled at this, but waves it away with a flick of his lithe hand. "It is so. But such conversation is hardly fitting of tea. Perhaps you would tell us of the state of our allies. My scouts have discovered hint of blight much further south than ever before. To be sure, we are only just outside its reach here. A league to the north the trees sicken, though I suspect the evidence cannot be spotted from the air."

Jurian rubbed his stubbled jaw in concern. "Indeed, I had not suspected the demons' taint had spread so far. But every spring brings new life, and with it, new death. We must end this war, and soon, else there will be nothing left to claim and starvation will do that which the enemy thus far has failed to do. I have heard from the armies' healers that the plague will spread much worse this summer, with all the northern cities' populations crowded into the southern strongholds. And now that the west has fallen to blight, only more will come, hoping for food and shelter from the demon menace."

A quiet sigh escaped Rhunarthil's lips as he refilled both Jurian's and his mugs. At the talk of the war, several rangers of various different races had floated into view, listening intently to the news, grim though it was. "We had feared as much. Not two sennights ago we discovered the remains of Sandatoril's ranging patrol near the northern border. We dare to hope they were attacked by goblins and perhaps coldwarg. Only scraps of cloth from their tents were left. There were no bodies. During the coldest months of winter I would not have been surprised to have an ice drake eradicate a patrol, even inside our borders, but for them to be destroyed in spring is a most unusual and unnatural thing."

Jurian stared into the green hued liquid of his cup for a long time, saying nothing. He had heard several similar stories over the last fortnight. The armies would soon be sending units to reclaim some of that which they had lost over the long, dreadfully cold winter, but the enemy was growing stronger, and more daring. The demons were gaining allies even as the Light lost entire units to plague. Heaving a sigh, Jurian returns his gaze to Rhunarthil. "I shall pass that news onto the Khaletineil, Commander of the Armies. He will be deeply saddened to learn of the…disappearance of his cousin." Neither spoke of what the lack of bodies might mean. Perhaps Rhunarthil was correct, and the patrol had been slaughtered by ravenous goblins, as the dark creatures would eat a man and all his bones without leaving a trace behind. But the far likelier, and far darker, outcome was that the camp had been ambushed and taken to help fuel the demons' magic. Such a thought was more than could be spoken aloud, and though both man and elf knew the likelihood of such an event, neither would say more on the gristly subject.

As Jurian drank the last of the tea from his cup, he found Jasper standing near, ready to accept the empty cup and replace it with a steaming bowl of stew. Nodding his thanks, Jurian decided the time had finally arrived for him to delve into the true reason for his visit. "A report to the armies is vital, but it is not the reason I chanced exposing your position by flying in with Cadteryn. The war mages of Septinoritiel have discovered the signature of one with the magegift here in your unit."

Rhunarthil frowned darkly. "It is most unusual to remove a ranger from their assignment in the field, Jurian. My entire unit has been trained for this life since a very young age. It is nearly all they know."

"The Council of Mages is well aware of the situation of the rangers, Rhunarthil. I assure you they would not ask such a sacrifice from your unit if the war magick was not so very vital to our continued effort to drive the demon horde back." Jurian had known this argument was coming, and it pained him to have to press his friend in this way.

Rhunarthil's frown turns to a scowl, a most unusual expression for the refined features of an elf. "The war magic has only been in existence for a handful of years and yet have I to see an improvement in our situation, Jurian Icefire. Who are these men to insist their magick trumps the needs of those guarding our borders from infestation?"

If the sudden change in Rhunarthil's demeanor had not shocked Jurian, the abrupt rudeness of an open question surely did. He simply blinked at his old friend for a long moment, before forcing out a calm reply. "Both the wild mages and the war mages support the training of any that appear with the gift, Rhunarthil. You know this as well as any. I know you have seen a demon destroyed by the combined spells of those mages. You cannot deny its effectiveness."

"A lesser demon, subservient to the true Endarkened," Rhunarthil muttered, but the near palatable tension between the pair faded. "My apologies, Jurian. I do not intend to defame your art, nor do I begrudge the decisions of the Council, upon which my father sits. But this winter has been harsh, and I find myself regarding my entire troop as brothers and sisters."

Jurian simply nodded, accepting the apology in full. After so long and deadly a winter, tempers flared at the slightest of provocation. If the races of the Light were to remain united against the encroaching Darkness, forgiveness must be offered just as freely. Several moments of silence passed, and Jurian took the opportunity to taste the stew that Jasper had handed him earlier. It had the earthy taste of coney, and he spotted bits of the early spring roots that were suitable to eating. It was flavored as exotically as the tea he had tasted earlier and left him with a warm, contented feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"It would make good hearing, of your courtesy, to know the name of the one which you intend to take to Septinoritiel and make a war mage of." Rhunarthil was once again the polite, unmoved elf.

Jurian chewed on a hearty chunk of meat and swallowed before answering. "The Council has identified Lucian Kyran as having the magegift. It would be well if I could speak to him privately on this."

Rhunarthil looks taken aback. "But Lucian is only a boy! Young even by human standards."

"And thus it is all the more vital he is taken for training. The young often awaken their magegift without realization. If the signs are not noticed, or if he cannot reach an experienced mage in time, his gift will kill him, as surely as the blade or teeth of the enemy."

Bowing his head, the elven ranger replied gravely, "Then let us call Lucian here. The boy has taken the first watch and will need to be relieved." Rhunarthil glances at those scattered about the camp. "Akanish, the watch awaits." A human woman rises from tending a brazier. Ranger hearing was sharp, and it was assumed she had heard the entire conversation as Rhunarthil and Jurian had not attempted to keep their voices low. Akanish nods, and disappears into the woods almost as seamlessly as an elf.

* * *

Night had begun to fall, turning the surrounding forest from green to gray. The moon would rise soon, Lucian knew, and cast its pale glow over the gloom. Until then, he strained to see the slightest movement through the underbrush that might suggest an unwanted visitor, for while Lucian possessed eyesight that would make most humans envious, he did not possess the night vision of the elves. But sight was not the only sense available to the young ranger. At a young age he had been taught that when one's sight failed them, it was vital to reach out with his ears and even his nose, for the breezes could carry scent further than sound.

The forest was always a lively place, even at night birds sang, insects chirped, and various larger animals moved about the underbrush. But this close to the Desolation, the forest was much quieter than the one Lucian had grown up in. Each animal seemed to make noise at its own peril and only at great need. Unnatural predators roamed the forest now, ones that would kill for sport, and leave their catch in a bloody mess without eating any of it. Lucian had never seen such acts by a wild animal unless it was deranged or ravaged by some mind-eating disease.

But tonight, Lucian heard no threats, and the birds gave out normal, though infrequent, calls. And so the young ranger allowed his mind to drift, his attention to the dark not lessened by his thoughts. He had blown the horn earlier, after spotting the great green dragon pin wheeling out of the sky, and now that his duties for the evening were all but over, he wondered at its arrival. It was unusual for rangers on patrol to receive a visit, let alone one by a mage riding a dragon. Whatever it was, it could not possibly have anything to do with him. In all likelihood, something catastrophic had occurred to one of the armies or perhaps a southern city. It was the only thing Lucian could think of that would prompt such a visit. He shrugged inwardly to himself. He would find out in due time and pondering on it wouldn't bring the answers any faster.

As he pondered, a slight rustle of the underbrush signaled the approach of some being. The soft footsteps were almost certainly Akanish; Lucian had discovered not terribly long ago that each member of their unit had a particular cadence to their near silent steps. Akanish's movement was not as graceful as that of an elf; her clothing would occasionally brush against the undergrowth. But her step was light and graceful, almost like an ice tiger. Having confidently identified the disturbance, he turned his attention back to his watch, awaiting Akanish's arrival.

A few moments later, Lucian was rewarded for his patience as the tall, lithe woman stepped into the small clearing. The moon had at last begun to rise, and Lucian was able to see her features clearly as he turned to greet her. Her hair was raven black, and tied in a neat bundle at her back and her eyes were of the palest blue. Her cheek line was sharp, giving her a severe visage, but it was softened by her smile. "I see you, Lucian."

He smiled back, brushing a lock of his auburn hair from his face. "I see you as well, Akanish. The night is yet young and my watch has just barely begun. One might wonder at the timeliness of your arrival." They were out of earshot of any elves, but old habits died hard and all of the patrol found it easier to simply follow the rubrics of elven protocol.

"Oh well then. A ranger may not venture out on the watch to simply visit a friend then. What a shame." Akanish managed to look both affronted and teasing at the same time. At age 36, she was nearly a score of years older than Lucian, but had always treated the boy as a younger brother.

Lucian blinked, then grinned. "And there have been occurrences in the past to which you can point to prove this is not such an unusual thing. All the many times you have kept the watch with me."

Akanish snorted. "Aye. It's a shame you don't remember them. But this time I do come with a task. A mage sits in Rhunarthil's camp and has asked to see _you_."

"_Me_? What did I do?" Lucian's politeness faded away as he frowned in puzzlement. "I swear that fire back in Blackwood was not my fault."

A quiet laugh escaped the woman's lips. She grabbed Lucian by the shoulders and pointed him toward camp. "If they put you on trial for it, I'll be sure to speak on your behalf. Now go, before Rhunarthil becomes impatient."

Lucian snickered quietly at that. If there was one thing elves seemed to be incapable of, it was impatience. He turned his head to shoot Akanish a parting grin, then made his way through the dark underbrush in the direction of camp.

* * *

Jurian and Rhunarthil had passed the time waiting for Lucian by speaking of troop movements and supply levels. None of the information Jurian could share was good, but all was of great importance. Nonetheless, Jurian was relieved to see the russet haired youth suddenly appear in the middle of the camp. He hadn't been aware humans were capable of that little trick. Jurian stands, studying the boy with his deep brown gaze.

Lucian was not tall, but neither was he short, and his body was surprisingly well muscled for a boy of his age. There was no hint of awkwardness in his movement; he was as graceful as a stalking cat. His reddish brown hair fell in disorderly curls to just below his ears, an unusual cut for the wilds. There was just a hint of aristocracy in his features, mostly masked by a strong jaw and piercing green gaze. A long knife was belted at his hip, and an axe strapped to his back. The common ranger bow was not present, but Jurian suspected the boy was more than adept at the ranged art. Rhunarthil had been right, Lucian was young; he couldn't be a day past seventeen.

Finally the silence grew too long for the boy, and he offered his hand. "I see you, Mage. Akanish suggested you wished to speak with me." His voice was steady and strong and just the least big distrusting. It was clear he wasn't going to be intimidated by the unknown. Indeed, he was going to challenge it.

Jurian took the boy's hand firmly, locking their gazes. "Indeed so, young Lucian. My name is Jurian; it rings much truer than some empty title of "Mage". Come, sit by the brazier. We have much to speak upon."

Lucian's eyes drifted over to Rhunarthil, who gave a slight nod. Reluctantly the boy took a seat, now eying Jurian warily. A gesture from Rhunarthil emptied the camp, giving the pair as much privacy as was safe in the forest, for which Jurian was thankful. He could tell from the moment he laid eyes on the boy that his words would not make for easy hearing, and it was best if he was alone to digest this sudden change in his destiny.

"Well? Are you going to sit there and stare at me, or are you going to tell me what a Mage wants with a ranger?" Lucian's eyes glinted as he asked the questions, all hints of elven politeness suddenly gone from his demeanor. "Just what kind of Mage are you anyway?"

Jurian tipped his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. "I am a War Mage. And to be blunt, I have been sent for you."

Lucian shifted uncomfortably, his eyes drifting to one of the small braziers. "Me. Why? A ranger isn't much use to the War Magick."

A small smile quirked the corners of Jurian's lips. "Perhaps not. But a ranger with the Magegift is invaluable." He was sure Lucian must have suspected the reason for his arrival by now, but nonetheless, the boy's head snapped up in startlement.

"Oh no. There isn't anything mage...gifty about me. I track animals; I keep the watch at night. I don't light fires with the snap of my fingers or call lightning out of the sky. And I've never even seen one of the Books." The boy's voice was hard, and just the least bit unsure.

Brushing a strand of black hair from his scarred face, Jurian shook his head. "The Books have nothing to do with War Magick, Lucian, and fire and light take spells to cast. Spells that you will be taught."

The expression of horror that crossed Lucian's face saddened Jurian. He had always considered the Gift just that, a gift. But some felt that it was a curse and it had become quite clear that Lucian was one of the latter. It pained him to force the life of a mage upon someone who was so unwilling, especially when there were many others who yearned for, but never received the Gift or the Books. But the gods worked in their own ways and the Light did not always allow one to lead the life that was comfortable for them.

Lucian had risen from his seat, and glared down at Jurian. "You're not going to teach me any spells. I'm sure you think magick is all impressive and everyone should want to be a Mage, but I don't. Go find someone who actually wants one of your little wands."

The boy walked toward the edge of camp, beginning to blend into his surroundings. Jurian called after him. "Lucian, it is not that easy. Come back, let us talk..."

"No! No, the answer is no!" the boy interrupted in a singsong voice before disappearing completely into the underbrush.

As Jurian watched the spot where Lucian had disappeared, Rhunarthil appeared by his side. "It is a hard thing, to realize that which you have done all your life is not the true calling of Leaf and Star."

Jurian nodded slowly and sighed, rising to his feet. "I would give him time, but that is the one thing of which we do not have enough in this war."

"There is always time, Jurian Icefire. That is the one thing humans seem incapable of understanding. The night is yet young." The elf's lithe hand settles lightly on Jurian's forearm. "He will return. And perhaps, in the night, he will find guidance that neither you nor I can provide."


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Note: This chapter was painful. So I apologize if that's apparent in it. Hopefully the next will go better. As always, I appreciate reviews. A lot. They make me warm and fuzzy inside, even if they're negative.

Disclaimer: As noted previously, some things are mine, some things are not. None are available for rent.

* * *

II.

The moon still shone and the occasional cry of a night bird still broke the silence of the night. But the darkness was no longer as welcoming as it had been when Lucian had stood the watch. Then, he had been a simple ranger. His life consisted of wandering the countryside, subsisting on what Leaf and Star provided. His only obligations were to respect the Balance, and report what was found on the patrols so the army might benefit from their observations.

But now...now some darkspawn had wandered into their camp and disrupted all of that. Now he was supposed to be some sort of...no. No. Lucian shook his head angrily, banishing the thought from his mind before it could fully form. He was a ranger and no black-haired man riding a dragon was going to take him from that. He had always heard that when the Books came to the Wildmages, they could refuse them. Well that was what he was going to do now. He was going to refuse whatever god or gods ruled over the War Magic and War Mage Jurian Icefire could be damned.

Coming upon a clearing, Lucian found a nice tall tree and began to climb. After all, it wasn't as if he was refusing to help the war effort. His role, the rangers' role, here on the front lines was invaluable. They were the first to notice troop movement from Shadow Mountain and they sent warning of blight and plague to the cities far before the diseases reached them.

A curving branch provided the perfect backrest and Lucian settled in comfortably, glaring up at the underbrush. He wasn't scared. Far from it. The mages may go into battle with the armies, but he had seen horror out here near the Desolation that he was sure matched anything in battle. His friend Rasson, who had entered the ranks of the rangers in Lucian's class, had been bitten by a goblin when their ranger detachment had been sent to a border village to investigate its lack of communication with the surrounding townships. Several rangers had died almost immediately when the troop had been ambushed by the ravenous creatures. Lucian had dragged Rasson away as their companions killed the last of the darkspawn, and wrapped the ghastly bite on his leg with a tight strip of linen.

But it had been hardly minutes later when the deadly poison from the goblin's fangs began to take over Rasson's body. First, his body had convulsed so violently that Lucian had heard the vertebrae in his back snap. Then a milky white foam had boiled forth from his cracked and bloody lips, bringing with it pieces of lung. The final effect of the venom was the most heartbreaking. As Lucian had held Rasson in his arms in a futile attempt to console the boy as he choked on his own fluids, the boy had begun to weep like a child. And then he had cried for his mother, over and over again until his voice had faded into a gurgle, then silence.

It had been a traumatizing event for Lucian, but it was only the first of many. Patrolling near the Desolation always carried with it risk of attack by Endarkened and their servants. This last winter had been especially troublesome, with coldwarg ranging through all the forest and attacking in even the most unfavorable conditions. They had even encountered an ice drake lair, though thankfully it had been unoccupied at the time.

So Lucian's refusal to go become a War Mage was completely reasonable. Wasn't it?

A sudden rustle from below banished all thought about magick and mages. Easing his knife free from its sheath, Lucian fell fully into his element, sending out all his senses to help him discover the source of the disturbance.

"A man in a tree? In the middle of the night? How very unusual."

Lucian jumped at the deep rumbling voice, forgetting his knife and yanking his axe free. He hopped to his feet, balancing on the branch he had been reclining against. Without warning, two huge glowing orbs of orange appeared floating before him. Lucian let out a startled yelp, nearly falling off his branch. The orbs disappeared for a moment, then reappeared a bit closer.

"I wonder why a man would choose to inhabit such a strange place." The voice was coming from just in front of the globes. The moon glinted off a reflective surface and suddenly Lucian understood. He must have wandered into the clearing where the War Mage had landed, because he was staring into the eyes of a dragon, and a rather large one at that.

"I-you-I'm just..." Lucian gave up trying to make a coherent sentence, choosing instead to replace his axe behind his back and plop down heavily on the branch. "You're a dragon," he muttered plaintively.

The dragon tipped his head to the side, staring intently at Lucian with one huge glowing eye. "You aren't very clever, are you?"

Lucian blinked blankly, the scaled and spiked head of the dragon beginning to take shape in the darkness now that he knew what he was looking for. "I mean, I know you're a dragon, but...I've never really been this close to a dra...one of your kind. Before." Lucian nearly planted his head against the trunk of the tree. He was certainly making a fool of himself. And in front of one of the majestic creatures under Leaf and Star. Gods.

"Is that so? What a terrible shame. I do hope I exceed all your expectations." The dragon pushes his head closer, dislodging several twigs and causing leaves to flutter down on top of his broad snout. "You could bond with one of my kind, you know. I can sense that smoldering ember right here." An incredibly large claw comes out of nowhere to delicately tap Lucian against the chest. "A little stoking and it would turn to a roaring flame."

For a moment, Lucian forgot who he was talking to, an amazing feat considering a talon the size of his torso had just brushed against his chest. "Oh I don't think so. I prefer my body not burning, thank you." The mention of magery had reminded him of the reason he had wandered off in the first place and his wonder faded back to the irritation from earlier. He had come out here to escape thoughts of magick, not run into a creature pretty much made of magic.

In response to his indignant statement, the dragon simply stared, blinking slowly.

A flat sigh escaped Lucian's lips. "You're the mage's dragon, aren't you?"

At that, the dragon laughs, a deep, warming sound. "I would not consider myself _his_, but we are bonded, yes. And you are Lucian Kyran, an unwilling War Mage, it would seem."

Lucian shook his head. "I'm _not_ a mage. Unwilling or otherwise. I don't care if I have the 'mage-gift' or whatever they call it. I don't want to be a mage and I'm not going to be."

The dragon blinked. "You really aren't all that bright, either, are you? You cannot give up your magegift like a wildmage may give up their books. Once a magegift has been awakened, it _must_ be trained."

"Awak...awakened? I haven't awakened anything. I am a ranger and I hunt and I scout and I don't use any magick to it." Lucian's words began to run together and a hint of panic reached his voice.

"Well I wouldn't be sitting in this clearing waiting for my Bonded if you hadn't awakened something inside yourself," the dragon said amiably. "How do you think Jurian found you?"

Lucian grimaced at that. The same question had been floating around his mind, but he had flat out refused to consider it. But it seemed he wasn't going to be allowed to ignore that inconvenient truth. "I don't...fine. Fine. I have this mysterious magegift and somehow, gods only know how, I awakened it. So what? I'm still not going to be some War Mage."

"You haven't been listening to me at all, have you? You would think when a human meets their first dragon they might listen to what the dragon has to say, but no. They're too busy caught up in their own affairs to pay any attention at all." The dragon let out a huff of air, nearly blowing Lucian from the branch. Lucian just glared flatly at the dragon, clinging tightly to his perch. Rolling its massive eyes, the dragon continues. "You _have_ to be a war mage because you will die if you are not trained. Poof. Gone.

The dragon seemed to take demented pleasure in the expression of disbelief that crossed Lucian's face. For his part, the boy blubbered for a moment before putting together a sentence that actually made a little sense. "But...how can...die? ...it can't do... Can it?"

A small, sad smile exposes the dragon's massive teeth. "It certainly can. It's not at all fair, is it?" Lucian shook his head mutely. "You didn't want this gift, yet here it is. That is something you cannot change, no matter how much you protest. But what you _do_ with it, that's the true test of a man's soul." The dragon blinked slowly, turning his head to peer closely at Lucian with one huge glowing eye. "And now that you know the truth, young Lucian, what will you do?"

Lucian looked away, staring down towards the ground. He didn't want this. Why couldn't the War magick have infected someone else? He knew tons of people that would have loved to be in his shoes. Why not any of them? It was so....unfair. He felt a bit childish as that thought occurred to him. The voice of his da whispered in his mind as he recalled saying the same thing when something less than perfect had occurred in his childhood. _Life isn't fair, Lucian. But that doesn't mean you don't have a say. Change what you can, and accept what you can't._ He cringed at how disappointed his father would be if he could see how ferociously Lucian was fighting against that which he could not change. He heaved a heavy sigh, forcing himself to accept that his life was changed forever. When he looked back up into the dragon's eye, there was determination in his gaze. "I'm going to be the best damn War Mage you've ever seen."


End file.
